


Forced Connections

by Frances_J_Irnok



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mollcroft, Molly X Mycroft, Romance, Sussex, Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:29:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frances_J_Irnok/pseuds/Frances_J_Irnok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes, GAY?  The Queen certainly hopes not, lest she lose her most important advisor.  </p>
<p>*This work takes place in the BBC Sherlock universe, after His Last Vow.  Sherlock Holmes is tracking down the source of the mysterious country-wide appearance of James Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Mycroft, you've been asked to pencil in a meeting...at the palace."  Mycroft's assistant Anthea informed him with raised eyebrows.  

He pondered this new information cooly and then informed her to make it happen as soon as possible.  He was, in a very technical sense, an employee of the Queen; however, it was exceedingly rare for him to see her personally.  Far from being disconcerting, Mycroft actually took his employer's absentee style of management as a compliment.  It meant that she trusted him, and the decisions that he made, implicitly.    
  
The meeting was set, and within a week Mycroft found himself treading the garnet colored carpeting of the private residence.  One of the Queen's footmen opened a door for him and he entered a quite old-fashioned office that was lined with paintings of Corgis.  He greeted her Majesty with a deep bow and remained standing, eager to learn the reason for her summons.  Sensing his impatience, she got right to the point.  

 

"Mister Holmes, I've granted you quite a loose lead as they say, as you have been of the utmost importance to the kingdom.  However, I feel the time has come for me to make a demand of you.  It has long been rumored that one of the Holmes brothers has, to put it delicately, _same-gender_ proclivities.  As your brother's goings-on with a woman have recently been in the papers, and seeing as how his faithful companion has married a woman, well, I am quite regretful to say that certain...suspicions have arisen regarding your private activities.”   
  
Mycroft’s face paled and he rocked back on his heels as the sovereign stared at him, unblinkingly.    She took a measured breath and continued.

“I regret that I must discuss such private matters, as I care very little about the private lives of my staff so long as they are not made public.  However, several of the nations with which you have dealings are not so progressive, and are becoming even less so.  I fear that if we do not make it clear that you are willing and able to procure a woman with whom to marry and raise a family, I may have to remove you from the position which you have held so admirably for the past several years."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, carefully considering his words before speaking.

"If I may, your Majesty, are you asking that I find a woman and marry if I am to retain my position with the British government?"  

"Quite."

"Yes, your majesty.  And when, if I may ask, is my decision requested?"

"I can give you 48 hours, Mister Holmes.  You will transmit your decision to me within two days' time, and I do believe it best if you are settled into a relationship within six months' time."  

"And you feel, your majesty, that this is truly what is needed?"  

"I am not in the habit of being questioned, Mister Holmes, especially with regard to what is best for this nation."  

"Will there be anything else, your majesty?"  

"That will be all, Mister Holmes."  

With that, Mycroft stood and gave a curt, respectful bow before turning to walk away.

"Mycroft..." she said softly.

"Ma'am?"  He turned to look back at her. 

"Speaking as myself and not in a formal capacity, I daresay it might be good for you to find someone, to have a life outside of the work.  My dear Philip has been such a comfort to me, and my grandson is a better man for having found his wife.  As much as I do appreciate your dedication, perhaps this will be a blessing in disguise for you."  

"Yes, your majesty."  With another bow of his head and a sigh, Mycroft turned and left the royal offices.  

As he strolled through the palace grounds and out toward his waiting car, his mind raced.  He wished he was dreaming, he felt as though he had been placed in some sort of alternate universe where nothing made sense anymore.  How could he possibly go through with this?  He could either lose the power and influence he'd worked a lifetime to build, or he could swallow his pride and his independence and find someone who would marry him.  Either option caused a blinding headache in him.  He entered the waiting car and slumped in his seat, utterly dejected.    
  
The ride back to his own office was far too short for Mycroft’s taste.  He would have preferred more time to ponder things alone, but he knew that sorting it through with his most trusted assistant was for the best.  

When he walked into his office Anthea immediately knew something had gone very, very wrong during his meeting at the palace.  She could tell from his stature, the look on his face, that something huge was coming.  She rose from the seat where she’d been waiting and poured a large tumbler of Mycroft’s favorite Scotch.  Anthea handed it to him without a word and sat in the chair across from his.    
He flopped down into his leather chair and drank deeply from the tumbler before saying a word.  When he’d finally settled and set down the glass, he looked up at her and said,   
  
“I have to get married.”   
  
Anthea choked back a guffaw.    
  
“Shotgun wedding?” She asked playfully.    
“Hardly.”  
  
Over the course of the next several minutes Mycroft filled Anthea in on everything the Queen had to say.  Once the details were all out in the open, Mycroft slumped in his chair dramatically.

"This cannot be happening to me," he said between his hands.  Anthea sat across the desk from him and looked on sympathetically.  

"I'm not a homosexual!"

"Trust me sir, I know," Anthea said with a touch of snark.  

"Ugh, Geneva.  You walk in on me once in five years of working for me and you will never let me live it down."  

"Well, sir, it was so...memorable. Two at the same time?"  

He shrugged.

"I have no need to defend myself."  

Knowing she couldn't get a rise out of him, Anthea went back to business.  

“Are we really going to make this happen?”   
“I see no other alternative,” Mycroft sighed, resigned.    
“Then I think it is in our best interests to treat this as any other strategic move.  Determine what we want, plan for all eventualities, and go for it.”  

  
All Mycroft could do was nod, and over the next hour or so Anthea guided him through the strategic process they’d use to find him a mate who would meet the qualifications that would be expected of the spouse of an international dignitary.  

"Alright, from the looks of it we have narrowed it down to several criteria. 1. Has her own career. 2. Went to a good school. 3. No tattoos or body piercings. 4.No criminal or scandalous history. 5. No family scandal, 6. Pretty but not too pretty. "

"I don't want this," he mumbled pitifully.  

"What is going to happen to me?  God forbid, am I going to turn out like my parents?  My father is a dribbling idiot who can't get by without mother, no independence.  They have to consult each other for every miniscule decision: 'Shall we buy the jam biscuits or the chocolate?  Oh, I don't know darling, what do you think?'  

And children!  Ugh...children!  What a disaster that would be!" 

"Or, you could always just switch jobs, " Anthea interjected.  

"Switch jobs?  Why should I have to, just because of some old-fashioned, outmoded prejudice?  It is utterly ridiculous!"  

"I agree sir, but you have to do what is going to make you happy.  Perhaps a transfer, a position as an emissary or a consul? "  

"Boring!"  He roared, not unlike his brother.  

"I can't give this up.  I live for this job.  And if keeping this job means that I have to do this, then so be it.  Draft the letter to her majesty for me to sign and have delivered.  Arrange a team and begin gathering potential mates in the London area.  Quickly, before I come to my senses."  

Anthea nodded and swept out the door, leaving Mycroft to his thoughts.  

~*~

Roughly two weeks later, Anthea met him with a manila folder.  Gazing at the slimness of it, Mycroft asked, "Is that it?"  

"Sir, you would be surprised how few women meet all 6 criteria."

"You know, Anthea, there's something I've been wondering..."

He stood up and walked toward her, coming in close.  

"Why not you?"  He said softly.

She gave him a wry smile and a shrug and said, "Because of this."  She unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall off of her shoulders to reveal an incredibly intricate full back Japanese style tattoo.  Eye-catching waves and koi fish swept across the landscape of her skin as a fierce samurai warrior looked on protectively.

He nodded and stepped back a pace.  

"I have thought about it you know: you, me, us.  You're the only other person I know who is as dedicated to the job as I am.  But even if your body art weren't a concern, I couldn't take you away from the work, the adrenaline, the rush.  There'd be expectations - of settling, of children...it would be like caging a beautiful tropical bird. "

Anthea smiled and blushed - Mycroft had never spoken to her like this before, he had never been anything but professional.  She took a step forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"I am quite fond of you, sir, and I appreciate the compliments.  As much as I hate to do it, I have to concur. We both crave the rush far too much."  

They shared a somewhat wistful gaze and he squeezed her hand.  

"Well, shall we?"  He gestured to the folder and they sat back down to pore over its contents.   Inside there were the profiles of 12 women.  He flipped through each one slowly, deliberately, reading quick bios and seeing photographs.  

"Wait, this one...number 9...I've seen her before, I know her."  

Anthea leaned in and looked with interest.  

"Molly Hooper, sir, pathologist, St. Bart's hospital.  She was the one who helped with Lazarus."

The memories came flooding back.  It was nearly three years ago now, that his younger brother Sherlock had been forced to fake his own death and go into hiding with the help of a handful of trusted friends.  This Miss Hooper had been one and, coincidentally enough it seems, she also met all of the qualifications of Mycroft's search.  He retrieved her file and studied it more closely.  

 

"Molly Margaret Hooper, age 33, born in Northampton. Hmm, quite impressive, went to St. Bart’s on a scholarship, received her degree in the usual amount of time.  Small working-class family, class is a strike against her but at least the family looks clean.  Father deceased, mother lives in Newcastle, one sister who is a housewife to a man in the RAF in Northumberland. No body modifications such as tattoos, piercings or unnatural hair colors, no personal scandals, no aberrant activities, no criminal record - good lord, never even a parking ticket - pathologist of note at St Bart's hospital, has a sparkling record of employment.  It says here though that she was involved with Moriarty, although he just used her to get to Sherlock and subsequently proved herself extremely loyal during the duration of the Lazarus incident.  Put her at the top of the pile, Anthea."  

"Sir?"  She looked at him questioningly.  

"If I were to court her it would certainly irritate my brother - a very big plus."  

She chuckled and shook her head, putting Molly's file at the top of all the others.  

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Hooper had continued to live her rather uninteresting life after Sherlock Holmes had come back from the dead.  She’d helped him fake his death, hidden him away long enough for the media attention to die down, then helped him slip out of the country.  After that, it was a long two years before he was heard from again.  In typical Sherlock fashion, she didn’t know he was back in the country until he was quite literally standing behind her.  His disappearance, coupled with her own failed engagement, led to her giving up her long-held torch for him.  They were firm friends, Molly and Sherlock, and as time went by she became more certain than ever that a relationship for the two of them would never be in the cards.    
  
So Molly focused on her job, more than anything, and on her friendships, and on her cat.  This is where her life stood as Mycroft found himself and his personal life quite at the mercy of the British Government.  

Two days after his meeting with Anthea, Mycroft made a gap in his schedule for a visit to St. Bart's hospital, his confident stride as he navigated the labyrinthine halls toward the morgue belying the double-beat his heart seemed to be pounding in his chest.  

Mycroft entered the lab and found Molly there, hunched over a microscope.  He paused for a moment, allowing himself to really take in all of her features.  She was slim and somewhat short, with long hair, a feature he quite liked.  Her nose was small and upturned, some would even call it cute.  Her lips were thin yet expressive, and they curled into a ready smile often.  

He coughed to alert her to his presence.  

"Oh!  Hello!  Can I help you?"

"Perhaps, Miss Hooper."  

"Oh...you're Sherlock's brother, right?  Michael?"

"Mycroft."  

"Yes, sorry.  We met once, quite a long time ago.  Before, well, the fall."

"Indeed. and you proved yourself to be a most loyal and trustworthy friend to my younger brother.  That is to be commended."

She shrugged.  "It's what you do...for friends.  Look, is this about Sherlock?  Is he in some sort of trouble?  Not trying to be rude, just not sure why you're here."  

"Well," he said, tapping his umbrella on the tile floor, "I was rather hoping to get to know you better.  I'd be very pleased if I could take you out to lunch sometime, or to dinner?"

Truly stunned, Molly could only gape for a moment.  

"I don't understand, what, why?  If Sherlock needs my help again he has it freely, there's no need to try to bribe me or recruit me..."

"Actually," Mycroft interrupted, "This has nothing at all to do with Sherlock.  You...interest me, and I would be quite pleased if we could get to know one another better. "  

"You mean, like, a date?"  She seemed truly lost.  

"Yes, you could call it that," he concurred.  

"I...don't know what to say, I'm not even sure that you've got the right person, I'm just...just a pathologist in a lab, and you, well, Sherlock has told me that you work for the government and that- never mind."  

"What has he told you?"  

"That...that you're not to be trusted."  

"Ah.  We have a long standing animosity between us - I dare say sibling rivalry taken to extremes.  If I weren't trustworthy, would I have extracted Sherlock from Serbia and brought him back to England?"

"No, I suppose you wouldn't have."  

They stood there in awkward silence for a moment before Molly spoke again.  

"Alright, I don't know why, but yes I will have dinner with you."

"Thank you," he smiled triumphantly. "I appreciate your time and I need to be off.  My assistant will be right behind me to set up a day and time...thank you Molly, I truly look forward to seeing you again."  

All Molly could do was nod numbly as he strode out the door, and a woman dressed all in black walked in.

"Hello, Molly dear, I'm Mycroft's assistant.  You can call me Anthea.  Now let's schedule a date for you two, shall we?"  She said with a wink and a smile.  

Molly nodded and they made the arrangements, Molly still feeling quite a bit like a deer in the headlights.  She'd grown accustomed to Sherlock breezing in and out of her life and asking the impossible from her, but his brother?  What on earth did he want?  It wasn't that Sherlock was some great confidante of hers, but she did find herself wishing that she knew where he was so that she could ask him what his brother was on about.  As it was, he was off in search of James Moriarty, the lunatic who had terrorized all of their lives at one time or another over the years.  Her date with Mycroft was in two days -- she sighed and supposed she could live with uncertainty until then.  


	3. Chapter 3

As Mycroft got ready for his date with Molly, Anthea fussed around him.  

"Don't tell her about the plan, Mycroft."  

He looked at her like she was crazy.  

"What plan?"

" _ **This**_ plan, Mycroft!  This plan to find you someone to marry so that QE doesn't ship you off to the Siberian consulate?"

He sighed deeply.

"Anthea, even if the British Government held a consulate in Siberia, I'd hardly be sent there.  It would be a slight step down, not an exile.  You are far too dramatic."  

"Still, don't let her know that there were criteria, and a list.  It'll scare her away!  Far more romantic if you let her think it happened naturally."  

He gave her a disapproving scowl.

"Anthea, in my years of service to the British government I've had the unfortunate occasion to be in many hotel rooms and planes.  As such, I have seen far, far too many bad movies.  Most of which I have successfully deleted from memory.  However, certain tropes remain.  I refuse to get myself into a situation where I am involved with someone and she finds out later I've had ulterior motives!  It's a classic romantic trope.  Two people meet,  they get on well, one finds the other has been hiding something, there is a clash, and a romantic reuniting.  It's tired, and it is far more dramatic than anything that I care to be a part of.  I will be honest, and if she cannot accept that then so be it.  There are 11 other potentials on the list.  What's more, Molly Hooper is supposed to be an intelligent woman.  If she can be so easily fooled by lies and other tactics, then she is not the one."  

"You're awfully cool about this, Mycroft."

"I have to be. "

"But how do you really feel?"

He lifted his hands and let them fall.

"My career...it is my life.  There is no question about that.  I have built a reputation upon  putting the work first.  It is how I have come to where I am.  If this is something that I have to do in order to maintain the position which I have earned, then so be it."  

"Careers are a lot different from personal lives.  People and their emotions can't be negotiated with, they cannot be bargained away or bribed.  Why not hire someone, with similar political aspirations?  Make a deal with her, have a marriage of convenience, and continue on the way you are."  

"Too many things can go wrong.  What if she gets dissatisfied and tells all to one of those horrid tabloids?  What if an indiscreet nurse lets slip that our children were created via artificial insemination?  It's lies begetting more lies, Anthea.  If I can't do this honestly then it cannot be done, and I will accept that fact and whatever that means for my career."  

"You're a good man, Mycroft Holmes," Anthea mused.

"I am a realistic man, Anthea.  'Good' is an extremely relative term.  For some, I am the wickedest man of all.  Being somewhere in the middle is all I can hope for."  

"Well, if you need relationship advice," Antha offered with a smirk.

Mycroft snorted.

"You?!  You, with the Canadian snowboarder and the German footballer and the French...what was he, a fencer?  You've welcomed more athletes than the International Olympic Committee!"  

Anthea didn't even feign to be offended.  She chuckled and said unapologetically, "What can I say?  I know what I like."    
  
~*~

 

Meanwhile, in another part of London, Molly was still feeling rather numb about the whole thing.  She dressed for the occasion the best way she knew how, a knee-length black skirt and matching tights, black flats and an ivory colored blouse.  Truth be told, these were the clothes she normally reserved for funerals, but she really didn't know what else she owned that was sedate enough for a dinner date with a posh government official.   Exiting her flat, she was unsurprised to find a black Jaguar with tinted windows waiting for her at the curb.  

Anthea exited the car and held the door open for Molly.  

"Mycroft will be meeting you at the restaurant, if you'll come with me?"  Molly nodded and slid into the vehicle, feeling herself settle into a seat that was far more posh than anything she'd ridden in before.  Truth be told, she was accustomed to taking the tube to work and back.  

Anthea sat across from Molly, attention fixed on her ever-present mobile phone.  From time to time she would look up and give Molly what she hoped was a reassuring smile.  

Molly was far from reassured.  Her mind still raced, completely unaware what Mycroft Holmes would be wanting with her.  She wished that Anthea would make small talk, but the other woman was engrossed in typing messages.  

So she gazed at the city through the tinted windows and let her mind wander.  Before she knew it, they were pulling up in front of a stately brick building, sandwiched between a dozen others.  It hardly looked like a restaurant, but Molly was so far out of her element she didn't think to question it.  Anthea exited the car and opened the door for Molly.

"It's the door right there, Number 14.  Just go right in.  Have a good time!"  She said with a smile and a wave and before Molly could reply she was back in the Jaguar and speeding away into the night.  

Hands shaking nervously, Molly opened the solid door and found herself in a small entryway.  She walked through it into a small, intimate dining area with about 8 tables, all of them empty save for one.  The only one which was set for dinner service was in the center of the room and was occupied by Mycroft himself.  He stood when he saw her, and smiled graciously.  

"Molly, so lovely to see you."  

She walked toward him, eyes roaming everywhere, taking everything in.  

"Is this...really a restaurant?"  She asked, trepidatious.  

"Absolutely," Mycroft responded. "It's a very exclusive place to dine, mainly for dignitaries and other VIPs.  Not on any lists, as you could imagine.  I simply took the liberty of reserving the entire dining area, I thought perhaps privacy might help your nerves. "  

Completely overwhelmed, Molly could scarcely find words.  

"I-I...thank you Mycroft, that was very thoughtful, you didn't have to," She stammered.  

"Please, sit and join me, I've taken the liberty of planning our menu for the evening."  

Molly sat, wordlessly, and played with her hands in her lap.  A waiter brought them two flutes of a fine, light champagne and Mycroft toasted her silently before they sipped.

"It has been...a very long time since I have done anything like this," Mycroft confessed.

"Why now?" Molly asked forthrightly.  

He sighed and sat back in his chair, just as the waiter brought them small salads made with exotic greens.  

"I won't be dishonest with you, Molly.  I've reached a point in my career where it's...strongly suggested that I find someone to settle down with. "

Molly's eyes widened and she took another sip of champagne.  

"As I don't feel that this is the sort of thing that can be left to chance, I had my assistants compile a list of suitable women based on six criteria.  You were the 9th of 12."  

"You mean...there was a list made, and I was on it?  Me?  You're certain?"  

"Quite, Molly.  Only 12 women in the central London area fit each and every one of the 6 criteria we were looking for.  When I saw your photo I realized I recognized you, and that is when I sought you out."  

She put her fork down.  

"Wait, so...I am not sure that I understand.  You are looking to date someone because your job is telling you to?  Not only that,  this woman has to have certain...qualifications?  This sounds horrible!  What ever happened to love or spontaneity or chance or ... anything?  I don't know what you are expecting of me, but I'm not sure that I'm the right woman to do...whatever it is that needs to be done."  

Her diatribe complete, she looked more than a little embarrassed that she'd spoken so openly.  The old Molly Hooper would have been far too timid to say such things to a man she hardly knew, and on their first date - then again, the old Molly Hooper wouldn't have slapped the bejesus out of a drug-addled Sherlock Holmes, either.  The Holmes men had a way of changing the people around them, that much was certain.  

Mycroft reached soothingly across the table.    
“I understand your misgivings, Molly.  However, it is the way of these things.  Anyone who is involved in politics knows that it is so.  If one wants to keep the power, one must play by the rules.  Edward VIII stubbornly refused to comply, and I do not intend to follow in his footsteps.”    
  
Molly let this information sink in.    
  
“But…” she began after some silence, “You’re not a royal, at least I don’t think you are.  Why is a commoner fighting so hard to keep up with  royal precedent?”    
  
“To be quite frank, my job is my life.  It is all that I know.  I wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be doing this if I hadn’t received instruction from the highest in the land.”  He raised his eyebrows when he spoke, emphasizing his meaning.    
  
Molly was taken aback.   
“You can’t mean…”   
Mycroft simply leaned back in his chair in silent assent.   
Despite the fact that they were in a vacant dining room, she leaned over the table with eyes wide and whispered,   
“Are you honestly telling me that _**the Queen**_ is telling you to have a relationship?”    
  
With a hint of a smile playing at his lips, he gave her the slightest of nods.  She sat back in her chair in disbelief, letting the idea sink in.    
  
Before she could stop herself, she spoke without thinking.    
  
“Bloody hell, if I’d known the Queen was responsible for this date, I wouldn’t have worn my funeral blouse!”   
  
Immediately stricken with embarrassment, she clapped her hand over her mouth, looking mortified.   
  
Mycroft blinked a couple of times and then smiled, probably the first truly genuine smile Molly had ever seen from him.  He hesitated, then began to laugh earnestly, which gave Molly the giggles as well.    
Once their laughter had subsided Molly took a sip of her drink and said, “I am truly sorry, I have a tendency to ramble sometimes, and not think before I speak,”    
  
Mycroft lifted his own glass and offered it in a toast to her.    
“To the contrary, I find it endearing.  It’s been my experience that those who speak frankly before considering it have much less to hide.  When you’ve worked under the conditions which I have for so many years, a lack of subterfuge is refreshing."    
  
Molly smiled gratefully and let her glass clink against his gently, relaxing into her seat somewhat.  Their main course arrived, and they chatted casually throughout, getting a feeling for one another and dancing those first tentative steps of the 'getting to know you' dance.  

When the meal was over they rode together this time, in the same black car which had brought her.  

At her door, Mycroft touched her elbow gently and she turned around.  He bent forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek before saying,   
“I would genuinely like to do this again sometime.”  

Molly considered it a moment, then nodded and smiled.    
“Yeah, okay.  Only next time, why don’t you just come round to my place?  It’s a bit less...formal.  We can get to know one another better.”

Somewhat taken aback, he nodded.   
“Very well.  I’ll call you to arrange it, alright?  Good night, Molly.”  

Still in a bit of a daze, Molly entered her flat and closed the door behind her, feeling more as if she’d been on a job interview than a date.


	4. Chapter 4

The following Tuesday, Mycroft found himself, bottle of wine in hand, standing before Molly’s front door.  Despite his resolve to be honest, he chose not to inform her that her entire building had been given a security sweep floor by floor before he had arrived.  He also decided she didn’t really need to know that he’d had a criminal background check run on everyone who lived within a one-block radius.  Such caution, while second nature to him, might seem a bit overmuch to someone unused to international politics.    
He rang the doorbell and she answered about 15 seconds later, ever so slightly out of breath.    
  
"You've been cleaning," he noted.  "I told you not to bother-"   
  
"Hello, Mycroft," She said with a smile, cutting him off.  "And of course I had to bother, I don't have employees to do it for me."    
"Apologies," Mycroft atoned. "I simply didn't want you to go to any trouble."    
They regarded each other a moment, neither really knowing what to say.    
  
"Should I - Can I start again?"  Mycroft asked, looking as sheepish as he could. Molly grinned generously and gave a nod.    
  
"Good evening Molly, lovely to see you," he offered out the bottle of wine in his hands.    
  
"Hi Mycroft, good to see you again."  She took the bottle and waved him in.  As she went off in the direction of the kitchen, he took a moment to look around.  It was a small flat, and he was pleased to note that it gave off the same sunny, homey charm that had come through in the surveillance photographs he'd had taken.  He was surprised at the pang of guilt that he felt, covertly  spying on his guileless acquaintance.  An exotic aroma piqued his senses and he followed it into the kitchen where Molly was putting the finishing touches on a couple plates of scrumptious-looking Thai food.    
  
"You cook Thai?"  He was duly impressed.    
  
"Er, yeah, of course," Molly said, bringing the plates to the table in her eat-in kitchen while nodding her head enthusiastically.    
  
"Thī̀ s̄xn h̄ı̂ khuṇ s̄āmārt̄h prung xāh̄ār?" Mycroft asked as she set down the plates.  
  
Molly was taken aback.  She'd sat down and all of a sudden she heard strange sounds coming from Mycroft - if she was smelling toast she'd be convinced she was having a stroke.  
  
"Erm, sorry?"  She asked. "I didn't quite catch that, sorry!"  She tittered nervously.    
  
Mycroft gave a slow, measured smile.  "I asked, 'Who taught you to cook'?"    
The blood drained out of her face.  "Well, you know, I picked up a thing or two from a book, and-"    
"Lying doesn't look good on you, Molly," he reproached gently.  Her shoulders slumped, and she looked crestfallen.    
  
"Alright, I did lie," she confessed.  "It's no excuse, but I didn't know what I could make you that would live up to that amazing restaurant you took me to.  I've been tearing my hair out, rejecting one idea after the other...and then I figured I'd just plate up some takeaway and you'd never be the wiser."    
  
"I'll ask you to remember that I like you for who you are, Molly, and not for how you can impress me.   That being said, you have the remarkable good fortune of having chosen my very favorite Thai restaurant in London, which was also what gave you away."  He smiled at her, hoping he hadn't been too harsh.

"I 'spose we have that in common, then," she said, still blushing.  "I'm sorry I lied Mycroft, I just wanted to make a memorable evening."    
  
"I'm certain that any time I'm fortunate enough to spend in your company will be memorable."    
  
For as much as she wanted to act as though she got such compliments all the time, she couldn't help but to blush, giggle and swoon a little, not necessarily in that order.  Internally kicking herself for her inability to play it cool and suave, she sat down at her modest dining table and invited Mycroft to do the same.  The rest of the evening went by well, and with another kiss to her cheek he went on his way.  

 

They had several more dates here and there, and their progress was slow.   Molly liked Mycroft, but wasn't sure if she should be forthright about how infatuated she'd once been with his brother.  Mycroft found himself enjoying his time with Molly, but a lifetime of being averse to commitment was making him overly cautious.  When Mycroft had to be away for a business trip for more than a week, his absence provided just the right catalyst for them to move forward with their relationship.  Her flat was his first stop and she was as warm and welcoming as ever, inviting him in and listening eagerly as he spoke.

When he asked how she'd been, she had an answer which surprised him.   
"I've missed you," she said coyly, with a blush and a smile.    
A grateful look crossed his face, yet he didn't respond.  Her shoulders shrank.   
"I mean...if you didn't miss me, that's ok, you don't have to say it, I understand."    
"I...I believe I did miss you, Molly.  I was simply trying to recall the last time someone told me they'd missed me.  I travel often, and my life is consumed with business."    
Molly's pretty features clouded with concern.    
"That seems such a lonely way to live."   
"I haven't minded it really, not...until you."  He softly grasped her hand and gave her a slight smile.  In a fit of bravery, Molly took the opportunity to look up into his dark blue eyes and draw closer.  She tilted her chin and even Mycroft could read her signals.  He bent down and kissed her lips gently, letting all his weariness and concerns melt away.  Molly sighed gently and pressed her body against his, her hands finding their way around his back and gripping him firmly.  Feeling her body's urging, he kept up with his kisses, and allowed his own hands to journey downward toward her backside where he cupped and squeezed, eliciting a moan from Molly.  

They plopped themselves down on the sofa, hard, lips still connected.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her onto his lap, hands running up and down her back as they explored one another's mouths.  Molly kissed him feverishly and pressed her body hard into his to communicate her willingness - not to mention, she hoped, to make her breasts feel larger than they actually were.  It wasn't long after that she felt something odd beneath her, causing her to pull back even as Mycroft made his hold on her tighter.  When she was able to break off his kisses, she spoke.   
  
"Mycroft, you're-you're vibrating."    
"I know," he rumbled, nipping at her ear. "I was keen to ignore it."    
"Yes, but-" She moaned and shivered at the feel of his moist tongue at her earlobe. "Your trousers _and_ your waistcoat?"    
"Damn," he cursed darkly.  He looked into her eyes, apology written all over his face, and gently helped her off his lap and onto the cushion beside him.  He produced a cell phone from his breast pocket and one from his trousers, examined the messages and winced.  

"Oh, that _fucking_ Russian Prime Minister!"  He turned to face Molly, taking one of her hands in his.    
"Tonight has been enchanting, and you have my apologies, but I really must leave without delay."  He earnestly kissed the back of her hand and caressed her cheek.    
"Thank you, Molly, for an incredible time.  Please know that if there was any way I could get out of this I would, but my job is a demanding one, and there are times when it simply must come first.  You understand, don't you?"    
  
Her dark brown eyes were filled with regret but she nodded.  He softly kissed her once more before collecting his coat and heading out the door.  Molly couldn't help but feel a pang at the way Mycroft swept in and out of her life, not unlike Sherlock.    
  


The slow, deliberate dance of courtship continued at a snail’s pace for two months.  Mycroft knew that he was going to have to do something well out of his comfort zone in order to speed up the pace of things.  He was happy with Molly, he felt at ease around her, and almost more importantly, there were still absolutely no red flags standing in the way of a longterm relationship with her.  A leap needed to be made.  He was loathe to do it -- not because he wasn't enchanted with Molly, but because he was so accustomed to being cautious in everything that he did, most especially with his personal life.  But if he was going to stay within the timeframe that had been made for him, he was going to have to act more quickly.  

He downed a shot of Whiskey and began to dial his mobile before he could talk himself out of it.    
  
"Hello, Mummy," he spoke into the phone.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to all my readers, commenters, and those who leave kudos! You folks give me the inspiration to keep writing, and to keep cranking out these chapters. I appreciate every reader!


	5. Chapter 5

Now that there was no getting out of going to see his parents, Mycroft had to complete the next errand on his list of things to dread.  He swallowed his pride and went to visit his brother, trying to talk himself out of it the entire way.  

  
Before he knew it he found himself standing in the midst of Sherlock's shambles of a flat.  Now that John Watson had moved out, Sherlock's bizarre experiments had expanded to cover what seemed to be every available surface in the place.  Moriarty still hadn't been found, and it was nearly driving Sherlock to a state of mania.  At least, Mycroft considered to himself, the pursuit of the deranged killer was keeping Sherlock off of the drugs.    
  
Sherlock didn't bother to hide his annoyance at the arrival of his eldest sibling.    
"Oh, what now?" he asked rudely, in lieu of a greeting.    
"Pleasure to see you as well, brother mine," Mycroft responded with more than a touch of sarcasm.    
  
"I'm on nicotine patches, I'm not on drugs, and I still haven't found Moriarty.  There, you've had your update, now run along," said Sherlock, waving toward the door.    
  
"I'm not here about _you_ ," Mycroft said, an edge to his voice. "I'm here about me.  As you would have no doubt found out soon enough on your own...I'm courting someone."    
  
Sherlock nearly dropped his beaker.  Putting it down carefully, he turned to face his brother and chose to employ sarcasm in order to mask his shock.    
  
"Oh wonderful, what's his name?  You know, that sort of thing is legal nowadays, so you can queen it up all you want,"  Sherlock simpered.    
  
Mycroft narrowed his eyes.  The game was on.    
  
" _Him_? I'm not certain how to take that from a man who's been following the tight arse of an ex-Army doctor all over London for god knows how many years now!"   
  
"You _would_ notice the state of his arse," Sherlock mumbled glumly.    
  
"In any event, dear brother," Mycroft said with a matter of fact tone, "I thought I would give you the courtesy of telling you in person about the situation in which I've found myself."  
  
Sherlock waved at him to go ahead, while fiddling with some test tubes.    
  
"I'm seeing someone, and it's quite serious.  You're rather well acquainted with her in fact…" Mycroft waited, expertly knowing when to drop the conversational bomb.    
  
"Her name is Molly Hooper."    
  
A test tube shattered on the floor.    
  
Sherlock's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared.    
  
"Just what are you playing at, Mycroft?"  His tone was threatening.    
  
"I'm not _playing_ at anything, brother mine.  I've been seeing her for nearly two months now, and I'm taking her to the cottage at Sussex next weekend to meet the parents."   
  
Mycroft barely flinched when a test tube shattered against the wall next to his head.    
  
"What...the fuck...are you doing?!" Sherlock was enraged now, and Mycroft could see the snakelike way he was coiling internally, preparing to strike.    
"You have done tremendously idiotic things in your time, brother, but this I will not allow."    
  
"Why, Sherlock?  Do you love her?"   
  
"You know that's not something I have room for in my life, Mycroft.  But she is important to me, important to the work I do...invaluable.  I cannot have you jeopardizing that."   
  
Mycroft took a step toward his brother.   
  
"If you will just listen to me, hear what I am trying to say, I think you'll find that your anger is quite misplaced."    
  
Still suspicious, Sherlock lowered his fists and allowed himself to really look at his brother for the first time since Mycroft's arrival.  There was a new quality to him, a vulnerability, a layer of emotionality that had not been there before.  A long pause ensued, while Sherlock compiled all the data.    
  
"You're serious," he said, downcast.  He tousled his hair roughly with both hands out of frustration then asked,   
"Why her?  Why now, why...just why?  If anyone was less suited to a relationship than me, it's certainly **you**. Is someone making you do this?  Blackmail?  Did someone find out about Geneva?"    
  
"Oh for the love of Christ Sherlock, how did you know about that?"   
  
"Anthea is a gossip," Sherlock shrugged.    
  
"She is **not** , you shit.  Besides, I am hardly the first international politician to enjoy the paid company of a woman in a foreign country."   
  
"Yes, but _two_?" Sherlock said with a devilish grin.    
  
"Go to hell," Mycroft said threateningly.    
  
"You still haven't answered my questions," Sherlock reminded him.    
  
Mycroft's ramrod straight posture softened slightly and he leaned on his umbrella.    
  
"I have to.  I was given quite strict orders that if my personal life didn't start materializing, my position with the palace would be in jeopardy."   
  
Sherlock shook his head regretfully.    
  
"I told you to remain independent, once you get into that system you have to play by their rules and now look where you are."    
  
"I confess I was distraught when the situation arose, but now…" Mycroft trailed off, his eyes wandering downward.  "It's not as bad as I thought it would be.  She's brilliant, Sherlock, but you knew that.  I pursued her out of need but also largely due to the annoyance you would feel.  Now that I see how important she is to you, I cannot take as much pleasure in your annoyance as I thought I could."    
  
Sherlock sighed.    
  
"How bad is it?"    
  
Understanding his brother's shorthand, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and began to fish in the pocket of his waistcoat.  After a moment he produced a large diamond ring and placed it in Sherlock's palm.  
  
"After Sussex," Mycroft explained.  "Once she's met the parents, quite soon after that."    
  
"You're certain?"  Sherlock asked.   
  
"As certain as one can be, which is to say, not very much.  But my hand is forced, Sherlock, and if there was ever a perfect solution to this problem, it lies within Molly.  I have never met a more trustworthy woman in all my life, and in my line of work, that means something."    
  
"The parents will love her, of course, if they don't succumb to the shock-induced heart attacks they'll suffer from you bringing a woman to meet them," Sherlock noted.   
  
"Very nice," Mycroft said sarcastically, putting the ring back into his pocket.  "If they can survive the shock of John Watson bringing a woman along to Christmas, they can survive this." He gave a sideways smile and turned to leave, flashing Sherlock a very ungentlemanly hand gesture as one last test tube flew through the air and exploded on the wallpaper next to the door.  


	6. Chapter 6

After his visit with Sherlock, Mycroft made his way to St. Bart's hospital, feeling the need to talk to Molly in person.  He found her in the lab, working diligently over vials of fluids, the origins of which he decided he did not want to know.  

She got up happily from her experiments to greet him, snapping off rubber gloves as she went.

"Hello Mycroft, what a pleasant surprise!"  She leaned in to wrap her arms around him and heard him cough.   
"Pl-pleasure to see you as well, Molly," he croaked.    
"Oh, bloody hell, the formaldehyde!" She swore, backing off to give him some fresh air.    
"I don't even smell it anymore, honestly," she said.    
He blinked hard several times and sniffed, trying to get over the sudden affront to his sense of smell.    
"No, not at all," he reassured. "It's what I get for coming to your place of work unannounced."  She shed her white coat and they walked to a nearby courtyard for a breath of fresh air.    
  


"So, is everything alright?"  Molly queried.   
"I believe so, yes," Mycroft answered.  "Although, there is something that has been weighing on my mind."   
With a concerned look, Molly urged him to go on.

  
“I want to show you,” he said softly, “That I can be vulnerable with you.  I feel that’s what must happen if we are to bring more of a...connection to this companionship.  That’s why I’d like to-”  He paused and swallowed dryly before continuing.   
“I’d like to invite you to Sussex for the weekend to accompany me and to meet my parents.”  
  
“To-to go away with you, a-and stay with you?”  Molly stammered.  When her deep brown eyes met his, he realized that there was another implication to this.  Not only would she be meeting his parents, they would be spending the night together, which itself insinuated a more intimate turn of events in their relationship.  

His eyes locked with hers, he nodded.  To his surprise, she grinned broadly.    
  
“All right!” She said sunnily.  “This is a good thing, I think.  If we know that we are going to be going on holiday, sharing a room, and a bed, well then at least we know when it’s going to happen between us.”

“No going back at that point, you mean?”  He asked to clarify.    
“Right.”  She asserted.    
“Well.  Right.  Okay then.”  He stood and breathed deep.  “It is a bit of a relief, isn’t it?”  Molly nodded and smiled, standing up and getting on tiptoe to give him a chaste kiss.  
  
“I like you Mycroft, really I do,” she assured him.   
“I’m growing...so fond of you as well, Molly.  Until the weekend then?”  He clasped her hands in his and kissed her tenderly once more before leaving.    
  
When he got back to his office, Anthea looked him over critically.    
“Well if it isn’t Mr. Darcy himself,” she quipped.   
  
“And what is that supposed to mean?”    
  
“Come _on_ , Mycroft, it has been two months.  Two months and you haven’t been laid yet?  You know you have six months to get this done, right?  When I heard we were going to be hooking you up I had no idea we were going to be re-enacting some sort of Jane Austen novel.  I swear, I haven’t seen this level of celibacy outside the Vatican, and we all know how well that has worked out.”  She folded her arms and looked at him, daring him to respond.    
  
Not taking the bait, he brushed her off.    
“These things take time,” he said dismissively.    
She huffed.   
“We’d only been in Geneva for 24 hours when I--”    
“Anthea, do **not** mention Geneva again!” Mycroft positively roared.    
Realizing how much she’d gotten under his skin, Anthea softened.   
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.  “I just want this to work for you, you know?  You’re going against the clock here and you need to know soon if you two really will be compatible.”  
He nodded slowly.   
“This weekend.  We will know for certain after this weekend.”  

  
~*~   
That Saturday dawned bright and clear.  A car had been brought round to Mycroft's stately home, and Anthea was trying not to pout at being left behind.    
  
"I'll gladly act as your driver for the weekend," she offered.   
  
"I'm perfectly capable of driving, and you know it.  You're just keen to spy.  Besides, there have already been enough work-related distractions keeping Molly and I from...escalating our relationship," Mycroft said, using the most polite terms which came to mind.    
  
Anthea held back a giggle.    
"Maybe I'm just concerned for my employer to finally have a decent sex life!" She teased.    
  
"My dear Anthea," he deadpanned,  "You engage in enough intercourse for the both of us."   
"Then it's for the best that I remain on call all weekend," she sassed. "Just in case you forget how!" With that she dashed away before he could chide her, while giggling wickedly.  All Mycroft could do was shake his head as he picked up his bag and headed for the car.  He let Anthea get away with too much sometimes, he thought, but only because of her ferocious loyalty and her dedication to work when the time came for being serious. He drove off in the direction of Molly's apartment, hoping that the day would not end up as poorly as he feared.    



	7. Chapter 7

Well before noon, Molly and Mycroft arrived at their destination.  He brought the car to a smooth stop in front of a small, surprisingly quaint holiday cottage.    
“Your parents...are staying here?”  Molly asked.   
“No, just up the road.  I thought perhaps we could use some privacy.”  She smiled shyly, understanding his meaning, and squeezed his hand.  

They unloaded their bags into the front room of the rented cottage and as Molly admired their quaint surroundings, Mycroft headed immediately for the bar and poured himself a generous drink.    
  
"Nervous?"  Molly asked.    
Mycroft let out a deep sigh.    
"Not nervous so much as readying myself for battle, my dear Molly."    
Her smile wavered slightly.    
"I'll admit, I've been nervous at the prospect of meeting yours and Sherlock's parents, but...they can't be that horrid, can they?"    
"Oh, far from it," he said before taking another large swig of his liquor. "They are impossibly warm, welcoming, charming people.   Completely - _ordinary_." Mycroft uttered the last word darkly, his lip curled and his face soured as though he were describing a dead cat, or toxic waste.    
Molly looked downright confused.   
"So, that's a problem?"   
He sighed yet again.   
"It just makes no logical sense, you see?  My mother is quite a brilliant mathematician in her own right, I'll admit, and yet my father is a common dolt.  A well-meaning, kindly dolt.  How a couple like them conceives and raises two geniuses is completely beyond all reasonable probability!" He drained his glass with a flourish as if to illustrate his point.    
  
All Molly could think to do in response was to stand there, awkwardly, desperate to think of something to say.  
  
"I'll tell you something else," Mycroft said, pouring himself another drink and looking around conspiratorially.  "They enjoy Les Miserables." He shuddered with disgust.    
  
Molly laughed in spite of herself.  Mycroft looked betrayed.  She came over and leaned into him, hugging him with one arm.    
"I'm sorry for laughing, Mycroft.  I just - well, I'm just glad that they had you and your brother at all, you know?  How it happened is less important to me than the fact that it did happen.  I understand you, I understand the frustration at not having parents you can understand, but I'm grateful.  Without them, I wouldn't be here with you."  She looked up at him earnestly and he felt a part of himself melt inside.  He set down his glass and wrapped his arms around her.  They stood there holding one another, enjoying the silence, and the closeness, and the moment.    
Eventually, he did pull away, but not before planting a kiss on the top of her head.    
  
"I suppose we shouldn't keep them waiting," he said with finality. "Are you ready?"    
  
The generously proportioned home which Mr. and Mrs. Holmes shared was no more than five minutes' drive from their rented cottage.  Mycroft exited the car like a man heading for the guillotine, and Molly quickly dashed to his side, slipping her hand in his and squeezing it for support.  He rang the bell, and swallowed the very juvenile urge he had to just turn and run.    
  
A curvy older woman with piercing eyes and grey hair answered the door, her arms open wide.   
"Mikey! And - oh, and a guest!" She froze in shock for a moment before a slightly stooped older man with electric blue eyes came into the doorframe.    
"Now, let's not be rude dear, come in, do come in," he said, gesturing to them.    
  
Molly smiled and, as they crossed the threshold, said through clenched teeth, "You didn't tell them I was coming along?"    
"Surprise?"  He mumbled under his breath, squeezing her hand and hoping for her forgiveness.    
  
Once in the sitting room, Mycroft began the introductions.    
  
"Mummy, Father - I'd like to introduce you to my girlf- I mean, um, my, eh...Molly Hooper."  he stammered.    Molly had never seen Mycroft without his veneer of self-assuredness, and seeing him stumble over the introductions made any irritation she might've felt melt away.    
  
"Very pleased to meet you both, Mister and Mrs Holmes."  Molly offered her hand in greeting, but Mummy batted it away gently in favor of collecting Molly up in a generous hug.    
"Welcome, welcome, Molly my dear!  Pardon the rudeness, but I wasn't expecting Mike to bring along a guest - no bother though, I'll just set another plate out for lunch and we'll be right as rain!"  The older woman released Molly and beamed at her lovingly before passing her over to her husband, who gave Molly a somewhat more understated hug and a gentle peck on the cheek.    
"Wonderful of you to come along and visit us, Molly," he said quietly.  She thanked them both, blushed, and resumed her position next to Mycroft, slipping her hand in his once again.    
  
"Now sit, sit!"  Mummy insisted.  They obeyed her wordlessly.  Molly got the impression that Mrs. Holmes, while a kind and caring woman, was not the type who was accustomed to being argued with.    
  
"So how long has this been going on now?"  With the word 'this', Mummy gestured toward Mycroft and Molly's still-clasped hands.  Molly was certain she'd never blushed so much in one day as she had already that morning.    
  
"About, erm, two months now," Molly answered.  Mummy nodded approvingly, and Mycroft's father just sat back in his chair and beamed.    
  
"Lovely!" Mummy responded.  "I'll be honest dear, we'd rather assumed that Mike was a bit gay, so this is quite the surprise indeed!"    
Mycroft put his head in his hands and groaned.    
"Well, it's the suits, isn't it?"  Mummy asked rhetorically.  "Always so fussy about his appearance, and hasn't brought a girl home since, oh...when was that, father?" she asked her husband.    
"Since we caught him in the back garden, snogging the neighbor's niece when he was about, oh, fourteen?"   
Molly snorted and coughed in her eagerness to suppress a giggle.    
"Don't encourage them," Mycroft mumbled darkly.    
  
They made small talk for a few minutes, then Mrs Holmes excused herself to the kitchen.    
"Come along Molly, you don't mind giving me a hand for a bit, do you love?"   
  
Molly nodded and stood, with Mycroft quick to follow.    
"Sit down Mike, be a good boy and let us have a bit of a ladies' chat.  Spend some time with your father."   
  
Molly let go of Mycroft's hand with a smile and gave him a peck on the cheek.  He blushed, and scowled, simultaneously.  She followed his mother into her spacious, rustic kitchen and pushed up the sleeves of her jumper.    
"How can I help you, Mrs. Holmes?"   
"Please, call me Mummy.  And you can help by perching on that chair just there and giving me some good gossip!" She smiled mischieviously.    
Molly did as she was told, and watched helplessly as Mummy began to putter around the kitchen.   She could see how the Holmes brothers' mother could be just as persuasive, and every bit as dangerous, as they could be.    
  
"So, two months on, that's very nice," Mummy mused.  "How did you meet?"    
"Well, erm, through Sherlock actually," Molly replied.    
"Really!  Why shame on him for not snatching you up before Mycroft," she said with a saucy wink.    
"Of course," she continued, "I think he's got a bit of the unrequited torch for that doctor fellow, John -- he and his wife were here for Christmas, lovely couple really, but I suspect a little trouble in paradise if you know what I mean!"    
  
All Molly could really do was smile and nod as she bore witness to the force of nature that was Mummy Holmes.    
  
Meanwhile, back in the sitting room, Mycroft and his father were sitting together in much more subdued company.  
  
"Your Molly there, she's lovely, Mycroft."    
He nodded in response.   
"So, is it serious, then?"  
Mycroft looked at his father then, and for the first time in a very long time, really saw the man, and not just the father.  The eyes and cheekbones that were so much like his younger brother's, the devotion he still had for his wife after more than 40 years of marriage...Mycroft felt his stern resolve falter and he gave his father a genuine smile for the first time in years.    
  
"You tell me," Mycroft responded, pulling Molly's ring from his pocket and passing it to his father.    
"Blimey!"  His eyes widened as he admired the bauble. He passed it back and looked at his son with a smile.    
"Mycroft, my son, I know that you and I have so little in common - I get the feeling you're even a bit ashamed of your doddering old dad, but I still want you to know how bloody proud of you I am.  I don't understand many of the choices you've made in your life, but this is one choice I understand completely.  I hope that Molly will bring as much happiness to your life as your mother has brought to mine."  He patted his son's arm fondly, and before Mycroft could think better of it, he asked his father a question.    
  
"Do you think she'll say yes?"    
His father nodded conspiratorially.    
"Oh, my boy - she's mad for you.  She'd say yes if you had nothing but a cigar band to slip on her finger."   
"But...why?" Mycroft asked aloud, more to himself than to anyone.   
"Love isn't something that can be marked or measured, categorized or inspected.  I reckon that's why your brother has never really gotten hold of it.  There's something special in all of us, lad, and it takes the right person to see it, unlock it, and love it.  I'm quite certain that Molly is the one who sees the special something in you."  He smiled, a deeply satisfied smile, and regarded his son with interest.  Mycroft reached over and placed his hand on his father's arm and said, barely above a whisper,   
"Thanks, Da."   
  
It was just about then that Mummy whirled back in, calling them to lunch.  She ushered them into the kitchen and gave her husband a little squeeze as he walked by, pretending she didn't notice the traces of moisture rimming his eyes.     
 **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the Holmes parents was *such* fun for me! And Mummy ships Johnlock - who knew? We will finally get to what *everyone* has been waiting for in the next chapter. Thanks muchly! XO


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. ^_^

Molly and Mycroft extricated themselves from his parents' company as soon as they possibly could.  Still, the sun was setting over the downs by the time they could escape back to their little rented cottage.  They walked hand in hand, as naturally as though they'd always done so.    
They were nearly to the door when Mycroft gathered his courage to speak.   
  
“Listen, I-” Mycroft began to speak and Molly could just tell that he was about to launch into an awkward, apologetic speech so she kissed him hard.  His resistance melted almost instantly and he leaned into the kiss, thankful she’d known to cut him off before he’d made things more awkward.    
Before he could complete another thought, Molly’s kisses had changed.  There was an urgency and a passion which had never been there before.  She nipped at his bottom lip, let her tongue dart between his lips, and pressed her curves against him.  When he was able to take a breath, he fumbled with the key and let them in.  They slammed the door behind them and continued their exploration, hands skimming the tops of clothing, tongues meeting, lips beating patterns against one another.    
  
“Molly,” he panted. “I want to take you to bed.  I want to take you to bed and make love to you and have a rough shag and everything in between.”    
  
She smiled at his forthright honesty and dashed up the stairs to the bedroom, kicking off her shoes along the way.  She heard him chuckle behind her and she made herself a vow in that moment - that she would try to make him laugh at least once, every single day.  When he did, all the sternness in his face melted and his face became boyish and childlike.  “That,” she decided, “is when I love him the most.”    
  
Her brain screeched to a halt.  Had she really just told herself she loved him?  She took a brief second to look down at the man hastily following her up the stairs and she decided that yes, she most definitely did.  She loved him, she was in love with him, and she was going to make things the best she could.    
She dashed into the bedroom while pulling off her dress and Mycroft was quick to follow.  Giggling and panting, he slammed the door shut behind them and wrapped his arms around her bare waist.    
“Molly, I love you,” he said, completely spontaneously.  Her surprise turned to joy in a flash and she responded in kind.    
“Mycroft, I love you too,” she said, eyes full of sincerity.  They examined one another for a moment before giving in to their passion once more, letting mouths and hands explore every inch of exposed flesh and working hard to expose more.  

He laid her down and arranged himself on top of her, cradling her gently.    
  
“We’ll have lots of opportunity to take our time,” he said huskily into her ear. “I just need to be inside you, right now.”    
She nodded and arched her hips underneath him. “I want you” she whispered low.  Mycroft brushed Molly’s hair away from her face and kissed her before slipping inside her.  
  
They both gasped sharply and shuddered nearly in tandem, overcome with the sensation of finally being connected.  He began to move, slowly and intently, closing his eyes to focus.  Knowing he wouldn’t last long, he freed one of his hands and used it to gently massage her, just above where they were connected.  He found her clitoris in the moist folds and stroked gently, taking care not to use too much pressure.  He was rewarded with her almost feline squeal of pleasure and the feeling of her hips bucking underneath him.  He tried to keep up a steady rhythm as she panted and shuddered until she pulled his hand away and held it by the wrist.    
Her eyes nearly black with desire, she spoke.   
“Just fuck me, Mycroft.  I guarantee that if you fuck me, I’m going to come.”  Hearing those words come from her pretty little mouth was all the encouragement he needed and he complied, thrusting himself into her as deeply as she could take.  Her animalistic squeals and growls egged him on as he thrusted again and again till he felt himself on the edge.  He looked down at her, a question in his eyes, and she just nodded.  He thrusted several more times before letting himself dive off the edge into pure blissfulness.  
  
As the first pulses of his orgasm began to spread through him, her body arched sharply and he could feel the ripples of her own orgasm, pounding and fluttering around him and drawing out his own pleasure longer and longer.    
  
When they came back from the brink, he withdrew from her slowly and laid down beside her, allowing her a moment to catch her breath before wrapping her in his arms.    
  
"That...was worth waiting for," Molly said finally, when she'd caught her breath.  He nuzzled and kissed her neck before saying, "I'm not done with you," breathily into her ear.  She gave a full body shiver and pressed herself more firmly against him in response.  He pulled away suddenly, and left the room without a word.  Molly whimpered slightly and pulled the covers closer to keep herself warm.    
  
Mycroft returned, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

"Get on your stomach," he ordered her.  Curious but trusting, Molly did as she was told.  Before she knew what was happening, she felt an odd, moist sensation in the small of her back.  Suddenly, Mycroft's hand was around her front, near her face, and he was offering her his fingertip.  She took it into her mouth and tasted something earthy, sweet.  It was honey.  He must've drizzled a tiny amount of honey in her lower back, she realized, before he set to work.  He was hovering over her, his body grazing her tantalizingly from time to time, as he set in to devour the sweetness from her skin.  He licked and sucked at the small of her back, an erogenous zone she didn't even know she had.  Her legs were progressively turning to jelly as he sucked every drop of sweetness from her.  He never reached up to feel her breasts, or downward to the curve of her buttocks - he just sucked and nipped at her back,   as though she were a peach.    
  
When Molly started to groan and growl in a voice even she didn't recognize, he gently helped flip her over so she was lying on her back, her whole body exposed to him.  He gave her a smoldering, meaningful look, and used a spoon to delicately drip honey onto her body once more, this time in the hollow of her hip, just to the side of her delicate pubic mound.  She arched and squealed, begging for his touch, and he gave her what she needed.  He licked and sucked until every drop had vanished beneath his tongue and teeth, turning her into a quivering mass of want.  Just as his nose started to drift toward her mons, she arched again and growled, "please!" out of frustration.    
  
He looked up into her darkened eyes, saw her panting with lust, and still he pretended.    
"What do you want?"  He asked, his voice low and deliberate.    
"Please...touch me down there," Molly begged.    
"Where?"  He insisted.    
She blushed and squirmed, and still he feigned ignorance.    
"Tell me what you want, my darling Molly, and you shall have it."    
"Touch my pussy Mycroft, please?"   
He gave a low, satisfied growl and spread her legs, positioning himself between them.  Taking note of the damp spot on the sheets that had grown beneath her, he mused, "You've made quite a mess of things down here, I see."   
All she could do was wriggle and arch her hips in response; she was beyond caring about anything other than the way he made her feel.    
He gave in to her wanting and used the tip of his tongue to tease her wetness.  Beyond restraint, Molly used her hands to press his face in closer, to bury his lips into her softness.  He acquiesced and began to work diligently, sucking at her moist folds from top to bottom until her legs shook - teasing and tasting and driving them both delirious with pleasure.  When neither of them could take any more, he redoubled his efforts and she laced both hands in his hair.  Her whole body grew impossibly tense, then relaxed in blissful waves as her orgasm rippled through her.    
  
Mycroft discreetly wiped his chin on the duvet cover then crawled up the bed to cradle Molly's still shaking, blissed-out form. He stroked her and held her as she came down, placing soft kisses here and there across her body.  When she finally seemed revived, he asked,   
"Shower?"    
"Only if you're coming with me," she replied cheekily.    
"Naturally," he replied, getting up from the bed and holding out a hand to aid her.    
"I'll be frank," he said as they reached the bathroom door, "This is the reason I rented this cottage."

Upon opening the door, she discovered a completely updated bath, including a shower that was very obviously made for two.  Mycroft turned on the steaming hot water and they stepped in, closing the glass door behind them.  They lathered up beneath the dual showerheads, and as they rinsed, Mycroft stepped up behind Molly and pushed aside her hair, sinking his teeth gently yet firmly into the nape of her neck.  She moaned and pressed her back into him, feeling his erection behind her.  She rubbed herself against him, eager to tease as she'd been teased.    
"Come with me," he breathed, taking a step or two to the shower's long, low teak wood bench.  He moved as though he were going to bend her over, bracing herself on the bench, but she had other ideas.  She placed a hand on his chest and motioned for him to sit.  He did so, trepidatiously, letting her tease and stroke his erection as the steamy water still sprayed them both.  
Molly bit her lower lip in concentration and knelt beside him on the bench.  She threw a leg over to straddle his thighs, looking to him for permission.  He nodded, and she positioned herself in his lap, then sank down and impaled herself on his cock.  Mycroft growled low in his throat as he felt her moist heat around him, then placed his arms around her back to support her as she rocked back and forth.    
Molly whimpered as she moved, making tiny mewls of pleasure.  Mycroft slid his hands down, cupping and squeezing her behind as she rocked in his lap, enjoying the sensation of her hard nipples sliding against his wet chest with every motion.  He groaned and tried in vain to rise up and meet her thrusts, then decided to revel in his helplessness.  He watched her exert herself as she rode him, squeezing every ounce of pleasure out of him.  His whole body tensed, and he gripped her tightly as he finally came, feeling completely spent as he let himself be supported by the cool tile of the shower wall.    
  
When Mycroft felt Molly moving to get off his lap, he extended a gentlemanly hand to steady her.    
"Thanks," She said with a grin, stepping back to immerse herself in the spray of the now-tepid shower.  He stood up, slowly, to join her and wash away the sweat of their exertions.  When the water was getting too cold to bear, they bundled up in matching robes and sauntered dreamily back into the bedroom, where they climbed under the covers and drifted off into an exhausted, yet very satisfied sleep.  


End file.
